Something Else
by song.breeze
Summary: No one understands Severus Snape because no one knows his history. No one knows who he was, who he is, and who he will be. No one but him. But there are so many things he doesn't know things that would change everything.
1. Mine

**Disclaimer: **J.K.Rowling owns Harry Potter, I don't. Also, I based this chapter on one of hers and told it from a different perspective.

* * *

Severus Snape stood at the blackboard of his potions classroom, writing ingredients for the potion today's fourth year class would be brewing. He listened to the subdued mutters from all round the room, and finished writing. As he turned around, he was Ronald Weasley hissing something at Hermione Granger. He scowled, making a mental note to take points from Weasley later in the lesson.

"_Scarlet Woman?_" he heard, and recognised the voice instantly. It was the same voice that answered questions in a haughty tone and berated its friends for any errors in their potion-making, causing Severus not to be able to take half as many points from the immature, pre-pubescent Gryffindors as he would have liked. It was the same voice Severus loved to hear beyond any other.

Hermione Granger continued to giggle, and Severus sneered. _He_ should be the one making her laugh, not some snot-nosed Gryffindor twerp. She deserved more than that. Severus saw her wave to Pansy Parkinson, who reminded him distinctly of a small dog, and he felt a surge of pride. Too intelligent to be affected them, that was how any relation of his should be.

As the three Gryffindors unpacked their things, glancing at the board every now and again to see the ingredients of his Wit-Sharpening Potion, Severus turned away. He couldn't dwell on might-have-beens.

Severus glided silently across the classroom until he stood behind their desk, listening to their conversation.

"There's something funny, though" he heard Hermione say as she held her pestle suspended over her bowl of scarab beetles, the same look of perplexed concentration fixed on her face as it did every time she was faced with a tough puzzle she longed to be able to solve. "How could Rita Skeeter have known?"

Severus frowned. What were they talking about Skeeter for?

"Known what?" Weasley said. "You _haven't _been mixing up Love Potions, have you?" Severus smirked. It would take more than even the best Love Potion to cause an infatuation like Weasley's.

"Don't be stupid." Hermione snapped. _That's my girl._ "No, it's just…how did she know Viktor asked me to visit him over the summer?" Severus' smirk transformed instantly into a scowl as he heard the name of the quidditch-playing brat. Krum reminded him of Potter, only even uglier. Seeing Hermione's blush, he softened a little.

"What?" Severus winced as Weasley dropped his pestle with a loud clunk.

"He asked me right after he'd pulled me out of the lake." Ah yes, the lake. Severus had been meaning to have words with Dumbledore about that. Bloody dangerous. He didn't want Hermione hurt… "After he'd got rid of his shark's head. Madam Pomfrey gave us both blankets-" Severus _liked_ Poppy. "-and then he sort of pulled me away from the judges so they wouldn't hear, and he said, if I wasn't doing anything over he summer, would I like to –"

"And what did you say?" Weasley asked. He was grinding his pestle on the desk, a good six inches from his bowl, as Severus noticed with amusement, because he was looking at Hermione.

Hermione ignored Weasley, and carried on. "And he _did_ say he'd never felt the same way about anyone else," Hermione went red, and Severus sighed. Yes, that was what they all said to get you into bed. "but how could Rita Skeeter have heard him? She wasn't there…or was she? Maybe she _has_ got an Invisibility Cloak, maybe she sneaked into the grounds to watch the second task…"

"And what did you _say_?" Weasley repeated pathetically, denting the desk. Severus had the urge to reprimand him for this, but wanted to hear more of this conversation. What had Rita Skeeter got to do with anything?

"Well, I was too busy seeing whether you and Harry were OK to –" Then Severus spotted the magazine under the table.

"Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is, Miss Granger," he said in an icy voice, "I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from Gryffindor." Damn, he had succeeded in attracting the entire class's attention. Oh well, he was just going to have to take this opportunity to ridicule Potter and Weasley. "Ah…reading magazines under the table as well?" he snatched up the magazine, which he recognised as _Witch Weekly_. "A further ten points from Gryffindor…oh, but of course…" Severus' black eyes glittered as they fell on Rita Skeeter's article in her usual centre-page spot. "Potter has to keep up with his press cuttings…"

The dungeon rang with the Slytherins' laughter and Severus smiled unpleasantly. Here was yet another way to make Potter furious.

"_Harry Potter's Secret Heartache…_dear, dear, Potter, what's ailing you now? _A boy like no other, perhaps…_" Severus continued, making sure he stopped at the end of each sentence, both to allow the Slytherins a laugh and to get a good look at Potter's face.

"…_yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, _writes Rita Skeeter. _Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girl-friend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would shortly be suffering yet another emotional blow in a life already littered with personal loss."_ Severus frowned. Hermione and Potter? Skeeter had got her facts wrong. What emotional blow? If something involved Potter and pain, Severus was usually first on the scene.

"_Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgaria Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with both boys' affections."_ Severus' lip curled. Rita Skeeter was making Hermione out to be some kind of slut! "_Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has 'never felt this way about any other girl.'"_ What was Skeeter doing? She normally wrote pieces to ridicule Potter, not Hermione!

"_However, it might not be Miss Granger's doubtful natural charms which have captured these unfortunate boys' interest._

"'_She's really ugly,' says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student…_" Pretty and vivacious? Parkinson? Pug-like and violent would have been more accurate. A good potion-maker, though. "_…'but she'd be well up to making a Love Potion, she's quite brainy. I think that's how she's doing it.'_" Obviously Parkinson was jealous of Hermione. After all, who wouldn't be? Severus thought.

"_Love Potions are of course banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potter's well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart upon a worthier candidate. _How very touching." Severus sneered. As if anyone cared about Potter. And since when would Albus Dumbledore pay any attention to what a trashy reporter thought about goings-on at his school? Either way, he didn't want to put up with the three Gryffindors prattling on for the rest of the lesson.

"Well," Severus said as he rolled up the magazine and the Slytherins laughed, "I think I had better separate the three of you, so you can keep your minds on your potions rather that your tangled love lives. Weasley, you stay here. Miss Granger, over there, beside Miss Parkinson." He had thought of placing Hermione next to Longbottom to prevent teasing, but decided that at least she was safe next to Parkinson. "Potter – that table in front of my desk. Move. Now." Severus snapped out the last two words, seething inside. The Slytherins weren't laughing at Potter, as they should have been, they were laughing at Hermione. What had she done to deserve it? She wasn't even a muggle-born, but of course no one but he and Dumbledore knew that.

Severus watched in amusement as Potter threw his ingredients and his bag furiously into his cauldron, and dragged it up to the front of the dungeon to the empty table. Severus followed, sat down at his desk and watched Potter unload his cauldron and continue mashing his scarab beetles, seemingly determined not to look at his Professor. Severus decided to take out his anger and have some fun.

"All this press attention seems to have inflated your already overlarge head, Potter," he said quietly, making sure the rest of the class had settled down again. Potter didn't answer, so he continued.

"You might be labouring under the delusion that the entire wizarding world is impressed with you," he said so quietly that only Potter would be able to hear him. Severus knew Potter was getting annoyed as his scarab beetles, already reduced to a fine powder, were still being ground enthusiastically.

"but I don't care how many times your picture appears in the papers. To me, Potter, you are nothing but a nasty little boy who considers rules to be beneath him." Severus saw Potter's hands shaking in anger as he chopped his ginger roots. "So I give you warning, Potter, pint-sized celebrity or not – " Severus was talking in a softer and more dangerous voice now, goading Potter into retorting. " – if I catch you breaking into my office one more time – "

"I haven't been anywhere near you office!" Potter said angrily, forgetting his feigned deafness.

"Don't lie to me," Severus hissed, boring into Potter's green eyes with his own. "Boomslang skin. Gillyweed. Both come from my private stores, and I know who stole them." He did, too. He knew perfectly well that Hermione had stolen the Boomslang skin, and he was sure that no normal human, even Potter, would leave a bobble hat at the scene of the crime.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Potter said. He was clearly lying.

"You were out of bed the night my office was broken into!" Severus hissed. "I know it, Potter! Now, Mad-Eye Moody might have joined your fan club, but I will not tolerate your behaviour! One more night-time stroll into my office, Potter, and you will pay!"

"Right," Potter said, displaying an uncharacteristic cool. "I'll bear that in mind if I ever get the urge to go in there."

Severus' eyes flashed and he, despite the urge to pull out his wand and curse Potter to hell and back, drew out a small crystal bottle of a completely clear potion. Potter stared at it.

"Do you know what this is, Potter?" Severus asked, his eyes glittering dangerously again.

"No" Potter said, and Severus knew he was being honest this time.

"It is Veritaserum – a Truth Potion so powerful that three drops would have you spilling your innermost secrets for this entire class to hear." He said viciously. "Now, the use of this Potion is controlled by very strict Ministry guidelines. But unless you watch your step, you might just find that my hand _slips_ – " he shook the crystal bottle slightly " – right over your evening pumpkin juice. And then, Potter…then we'll find out whether you've been in my office or not."

Potter said nothing, but Severus could tell he was scared by the shudder he gave as he began chopping his ginger roots once more.

There was a knock on the dungeon door.

"Enter" said Severus in his usual voice.

The class looked around as the door opened. Igor Karkaroff came in. Everyone watched him as he walked directly up towards Severus' desk. He was twisting his finger around his goatee again, and looking agitated.

"We need to talk," said Karkaroff abruptly, when he had reached Severus. He seemed so determined that nobody should hear what he was saying that he was barely opening his lips; it was as though he was a rather poor ventriloquist. Potter was keeping his eyes on his ginger roots, but Severus would bet a hundred galleons that he was listening as hard as he possibly could.

"I'll talk to you after my lesson, Karkaroff – " Severus muttered, but Karkaroff interrupted him.

"I want to talk now, while you can't slip off, Severus. You've been avoiding me."

"After the lesson." Severus snapped. He was growing increasingly annoyed with the Durmstrang Headmaster's idiocy. To try to discuss something so important in a classroom, of all places! Karkaroff did look very worried though. He hovered behind Severus' desk annoying him for the rest of the double period, and seemed intent on preventing Severus from slipping away at the end of class, much to his annoyance.

Potter knocked over his armadillo bile right at the end of class, so Severus had no way of dismissing him. Making sure Potter was busily mopping up, Severus hissed "What's so urgent?"

"_This_" said Karkaroff, and he drew back his left sleeve to reveal his Dark Mark, clear against his white, almost transparent skin. "Well? Do you see? It's never been this clear, never since – "

"Put it away!" Severus snarled, his eyes sweeping the classroom.

"But you must have noticed – " Karkaroff began in an agitated voice.

"We can talk later, Karkaroff!" Severus spat. "Potter! What are you doing?"

"Clearing up my armadillo bile, Professor" Potter said, trying to look innocent.

Karkaroff turned on his heel and strode out of the dungeon. He looked both worried and angry. Potter left at top speed, clearly not wanting to stay now Severus' conversation with Igor was over.

Severus had been asked by many people why he hated Potter so much, and many times his answer had been "Because of his father." But this was not strictly true. The reason Severus had hated James Potter was because of his mother.

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I have a storyline planned out for this, but I'll only continue it if people want me to. I basically want to tell Snape's story, from why he is who he is to why he kills Dumbledore. If you think I should continue, please let me know. Anyhow, **review**!

Becca


	2. 2

_2 September 1952, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_"Good morning class, I am your new Potions Professor. You will know my name from the introduction Professor Dumbledore so kindly gave me at the start of term feast, but I have written my name on the board for any of you who have…mislaid that memory."_

_A few people giggled, and she continued._

_"I, like you, have entered the school this year, but I, unlike you, have already graduated. Therefore, I hope you will trust in my ability to teach you what you need to know and get you through your exams which, ultimately, seems to most people to be the ultimate goal of education. However, I disagree. I believe that school should be about learning to live life to the full, no learning how to waste your time."_

_She looked around at the eager first-years sitting raptly behind their desks and smiled._

_"But I won't bore you with that now. This lesson I will show you some potions that you will encounter during your years here at Hogwarts. I hope you will see from this the strange way in which emotion, reaction, consequence, and ultimately life can be brewed with the simplest of ingredients. This, to me, is what makes the art and science of potion making so truly fascinating, and I hope that some of you will share my enthusiasm for the subject."_

_She smiled at the class, hoping that she really could teach them to appreciate her subject the way a good teacher should._

_"And for those of you who won't find potions a favourite subject, I hope I can at least engage your attention pleasantly for the years I will share with you here."_

_To her surprise and relief, the class were smiling back at her. It seemed that the introduction, at least, to her first lesson had been a success._

_"Now, on to some potions."_

_She turned to the front row of desks which were entirely taken up with cauldrons, simmering or bubbling, emitting steam and smoke in all colours of the rainbow and sending an odd collection of aromas wafting around the classroom._

_"I would like you each, in turn, to come to the front and collect a sample of this potion. You will take this back to your desk, please, and I would like you to write a few notes – not many mind you, this is supposed to be a fun lesson, not an essay-writing class – about this potion. For instance: the way it looks, the way it smells, what it is doing. What does it make you feel?"_

_"Please Miss" a boy said from the second row._

_"Professor. Yes?"_

_"Sorry Professor, but what do you mean by 'how it makes us feel'?"_

_She smiled, looking straight at the boy. He was small, with dark hair and eyes, and a gaunt, sallow complexion._

_"Ah, potions are complex and mysterious things. Through their mere sight or vapour they can have effects on the human mind and body, and they can affect each individual in a different way. I would like to take this opportunity both to teach and to learn about these potions, as there are always new discoveries one can make."_

_The boy nodded._

_"Right, Mr –"_

_"Dalton, Professor."_

_"Thank you, Mr Dalton. For that contribution, take five points to Slytherin and you can be the first to collect your sample."_

_The boy grinned, suddenly looking much healthier, and stood. After he had collected his sample, she called the rest of the class one by one to come and collect their potion. When they were done, she took a seat behind her desk and surveyed the class over steepled fingers. They all worked away, chatting among themselves and scribbling enthusiastically. It made her so happy to see that she could bring something she loved so much to these children and have them enjoy it as much as she had at their age. As their scribbling started to slow and they began to get restless, watching her, she spoke again._

_"Would anybody like to tell me about this potion?" She asked, looking directly at her class._

_A few hands went up, but many of the owners looked slightly nervous to contribute, so she picked one that seemed confident._

_"Mr Moody?"_

_"Yes Professor. Well, its…it colour varies really. One minute it looks a kind of silvery grey, and the next minute it's some strange kaleidoscope of all kind of colours. Makes you think you're seeing things."_

_"Exactly right, Mr Moody. Take five points. Can anyone tell me anything else?"_

_A few more people raised their hands this time, evidently encouraged by Moody's contribution._

_"Miss –"_

_"Shacklebolt, Professor."_

_"Right. What did you notice, Miss Shacklebolt?"_

_"I – I'm not sure what it smells like. It smells like libraries and horses and wooden furniture, but at the same time it smells like animals and cooking and dirty laundry and sweat and…pig muck"_

_Several students laughed at this last comment, but she merely nodded._

_"Very observant. Yes, it will give off two sets of aromas like Miss Shacklebolt kindly described. Can anyone tell me what two things these smells depict?"_

_Another Gryffindor raised his hand, and she nodded at him._

_"They're opposites."_

_She heard a laugh and saw a Slytherin girl sniggering._

_"Don't be stupid! How are horses and animals opposite?"_

_Other Slytherins began to snigger along with the girl, but at a look from their teacher they quietened. She noticed that Dalton, the gaunt dark boy, hadn't been laughing with them. Instead, he had been looking thoughtful and mouthing silently, evidently trying to work something out in his head._

_"What is your name, girl?"_

_The girl stared at her defiantly, and said "Black"._

_"Well, Miss Black" her voice was deathly quiet, and a few people looked apprehensive. "I have only two things to say to you. Firstly, you do not speak out of turn in my class. Secondly, if I ever hear anyone in this classroom disregard the opinion of another student in that disgusting manner in this classroom again, they will leave and not come back. Is that clear?"_

_The Black girl nodded reluctantly looking, she noticed, much less cocky and confident than she had a few moments ago. The Gryffindor boy looked at her gratefully, and she spoke to him again._

_"I'm sorry, I don't know your name."_

_"I'm Joseph Wainwright, Professor."_

_"Thank you, Mr Wainwright, you've made an excellent point. Are you able to tell me why you thought of opposites?"_

_"N-no, I don't know. I mean, it was more of a feeling than anything."_

_Joseph looked embarrassed, but she smiled encouragingly._

_"Sometimes potions is more about a vague hunch than definite clues. If you had to guess what a potion was without any specialist equipment or testing it, a gut feeling can tell you a great deal."_

_She had noticed, as she spoke, that a hand was rising slowly and tentatively in the air. When she had finished, she smiled at the owner._

_"Mr Dalton again. What are you thinking?"_

_"I think I know what Wainwright means, Professor."_

_"Go on, then. Enlighten us."_

_She was intrigued to see if this boy was as naturally talented as she was beginning to suspect. If he really could work out the essence of this potion, she wasn't wrong._

_"It's well, I'm guessing this is an old potion, right?"_

_"Yes, it dates back hundreds of years."_

_The class looked puzzled, but she knew what he was getting at._

_"Well in that case, the first set of smells is all about being poor. It's got farming smells like animals and sweat and manure. But the second set is luxurious, it's about manor houses and knowledge. Does that mean this potion turns you from one into the other? Does it make you rich?"_

_"Well now, that's an interesting question. If one only considered the aroma the potion gives off, that would be a reasonable assumption to make, but you are forgetting some of the other factors."_

_Dalton looked crestfallen, and she tried not to laugh. She remembered being like that herself, fifteen years ago._

_"Don't worry, you've done a lot better than I expected a first year class to do." She addressed her next remark to the whole class. "There is clearly a lot of talent here. I will enlighten you as to the properties and uses of this potion, as it is unfair for me to expect you to work it out."_

_The class was silent, looking at her expectantly._

_"This potion is the Elixir Foupaysan. It is a French name. You remember how Mr Moody told us the potion made you think you were seeing things?"_

_They nodded._

_"Well, this is the key. This potion was used hundreds of years ago to transform any person into a village idiot." She laughed. "This probably seems very pointless," The class nodded. "but let me explain its uses to you. It was sold to muggle Lords and Ladies by magical traders. In those days, many muggles believed in witchery and were willing to buy into it, though not letting on to their fellow muggles of course. This potion could be used quite effectively as a disguise or excuse. For instance, if a Lord wanted to survey his subjects it was easiest to do so by intermingling with them, and no one pays attention to a madman. It could also be used if you got into trouble. An example, hmm…let's say you get caught stealing another man's horse. Take a swig of this potion and you will immediately begin to hallucinate, meaning that you can tell your captors that someone bewitched you, placing the blame, if necessary, on an innocent villager."_

_Black had raised her hand again._

_"Are you being serious, Professor?"_

_"Perfectly."_

_"Then why are you teaching us about this potion? No one would use it now. Plus, selling magic to muggles is illegal."_

_She sat back, looking smug._

_"Both those points are correct, Miss Black, but you seem to have missed the entire purpose of the exercise. I am demonstrating to you the ways in which the senses can be used to determine the properties of a potion and, possibly, its safety."_

_Dalton raised his hand again._

_"Yes?"_

_"Well, can't a potion's appearance be changed by magic?"_

_She sighed._

_"You're far ahead of me, I'm afraid. Sadly yes, a potion's appearance and aroma can be altered by spells, and there is no way to avoid this. However, I will try to teach you all I can as a potion would only normally be changed in a sinister situation, and in one of these I'm sure there will be other magic you can learn and employ."_

_Dalton smiled at her, and she knew she had found her first protégé. She continued through the rest of the potions in the same manner as the first until the double period had ended. She dismissed the class, walking to the board and removing the names of the spells she had written upon it, leaving only her name which would remain for the reference of her next class:_

_Professor Snape_

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What do you think? This may get confusing. Any questions, **review** and ask me. Other than that, please let me know what you think by **review**ing!

Becca


	3. Lust

Dumbledore had told Severus how hard it would be, to face the child of someone he hated so much. To face the offspring of someone who had ruined his entire existence. But nothing could have prepared Severus for what he would feel the first time he set eyes on Harry Potter. Never would he have felt that much hate since that fateful day over a decade before, that one day which had released him from what he thought would be a lifelong feeling of pain and anger. Little had Severus known that Harry Potter would bring that feeling back.

As Severus sat on a sofa in his private library reflecting on this, he looked back to the feast which, he reminded himself, would still be going on two floors above him. As soon as he could, Severus had excused himself and made his way to his office and down the hidden flight of stairs which led to his own quarters.

Harry Potter, from the moment he had entered the Great Hall that evening, had captivated Severus' attention, everything about him screaming of his father. His stupid glasses, his messy black hair, the way he seemed to lap up the attention everyone in the school was giving him. Even his far-too-skinny physique was just like his father's. Everything reminded Severus of Potter, except his eyes. His eyes were Lily's and, as Severus realised this, he had scowled. No eyes that beautiful belonged in a face of someone that…sadistic, bullying, that…

And so Severus had looked away from Professor Quirrel, the snivelling wreck of a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and had given Potter the dirtiest, evilest, lip-curling, brow-furrowing, flower-wilting, stone-turning look he had been able to muster; and Severus, being himself, could give a damn good evil stare. Severus liked to think that Potter had been unnerved by it, for he immediately clapped his hand to his ugly scar and turned away. Severus' lip curled at the memory: trust a Potter to draw attention to anything which made them different; anything which made them 'special'.

Severus sighed and contemplated the lesson he would have to teach the next Friday: first year Potions with Gryffindor and Slytherin. At least, he thought with a small and malicious smile, he would have a chance to pop Potter's rapidly swelling head, and show him the clear superiority of Slytherin House against Gryffindor egos.

>

Severus started the lesson, as was the typical Hogwarts practice, by taking the register. He paused at Potter's name and smirked.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new – _celebrity_."

Severus noticed the sniggers of the Slytherin and smiled, satisfied. The Malfoy boy would prove a worthwhile adversary for Potter and his cronies. The trouble with Potter in Severus' day had been the lack of anyone willing or capable of taking him down. Severus would make sure that, this time, there was always someone to bring Potter down to where he belonged.

When he had finished taking the register, Severus looked up at the class. He spoke, coldly and precisely.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He did not deign to speak in any more than a whisper, for he knew that the class would catch every word. He had the gift, like all successful teachers, of keeping a class silent without effort. It was all about respect, something which certain members of this class would have to learn immediately if they wished to succeed at Hogwarts. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Severus looked directly at Potter, making it perfectly clear that, in this instance, he was nothing but normal.

"Potter!" he said suddenly, alarming several members of the class, including a bushy-haired Gryffindor girl who was almost falling off her seat in anticipation. He barely tried to stop himself rolling his eyes and giving her a sneer. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Potter glanced at the lanky boy beside him, who could only be a Weasley. Severus was pleased to see that both idiots looked completely stumped. Now was his first chance to make Potter look like a fool in front of all his classmates. The girl's hand shot up, and Severus checked his register. Granger.

"I don't know, sir," Potter said. Ah, a little respect. This was a welcome surprise.

Severus' lips curled into a sneer. "Tut, tut – fame clearly isn't everything." He ignored Granger's hand. "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Granger stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, but Potter evidently didn't have a clue what a bezoar was. Severus noticed Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter, and smirked.

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Ah, revenge was sweet… Clearly Potter, unlike Miss Granger, had not memorised everything in _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_. Really, the pathetic little twerp set himself up for ridicule.

Severus was still ignoring Granger's quivering hand. "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

To Severus' annoyance, the Granger girl actually stood up at this point, her hand stretching towards the dungeon ceiling. "I don't know," said Potter quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

Several people laughed, but Severus was not amused. He was livid. "Sit down," he snapped at Granger. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?" Severus had lost his cool, and cursed silently. However, this outburst seemed to have caused the desired effect, as the sudden rummaging for quills and parchment told him. "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter." That was the jewel in the crown: loss to Gryffindor purely because of Potter. With any luck, his housemates would remember that.

Severus put the class into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around criticising almost everyone in the class, pleased to see the awe his billowing black cloak seemed to inspire in the impressionable first-years. He was careful, however, not to criticise Malfoy. His confidence should be built, not flattened if he was to bring down Potter. His father, Lucius, was also a useful ally to have, and if Draco's favourite teacher was Severus Snape, he would be in a lot of people's favour. In fact, he decided to mention the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs, but as he was in mid-flow, clouds of acid-green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon.

Longbottom, the great fat imbecile, had managed to melt his partner's cauldron into a twisted blob and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, Severus' carefully ordered discipline was in tatters as the whole class stood on their stools while Longbottom, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" Severus snarled, clearing the spilled potion away with one sweep of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?" It was an elementary mistake, but not one that Severus was willing to tolerate. Simple mistakes could not be made in a Potions class.

Longbottom whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him to the hospital wing," Severus spat at Longbottom's Gryffindor partner. Then he rounded on Potter and Weasley, eager to take his frustration out on someone. Having been working next to Longbottom, the gruesome twosome provided an easy target. "You – Potter – why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor." Severus knew this was unfair, but he didn't care. He merely stood and watched as Weasley stopped Potter from opening his arrogant, stupid mouth again.

_Wise move, Weasley_ he thought, and smiled as he heard Weasley say "Don't push it. I've heard Snape can turn very nasty." A lesson Potter would need to learn.

* * *

Not a long 'un I'm afraid, but what can I say? I'm ill at home and have been for a couple of days, and for some reason I just couldn't get inside our dear Sevvy's head... Anyway, thanks to those who reviewed - I was never expecting this to be a big hit, but I wrote it for the sake of my imagination. 

**vegetarians will rule** Nope, you're not gonna understand. my aim isn't to make you understand either, which is probably a good thing as by now I would have miserably failed. i'm piecing together this story by randomly grabbing at bits of Snape's history, so it's up to you how you interpret it. Thank you, you made my day! No reviews were expected... Oh, and vegetarians DO rule. Fish are friends, not food...love the animals.

**risi** Yep, Snape and _any_ 14-year-old, never _mind_ Hermione, would be EW! I'm hoping to explain gradually, but needless to say it will stay a little strange. Good theories, and you made me think - I re-read HBP recently and I've had to make a few alterations to where this is going, all related to things you pointed out. Hope you carry on reading!

**The Fifth Elephant Freak** Yeah, ingenious and original name...NOT. Haha Ciz, you do make me laugh...gone back in time and had a sex change? Seriously,I nearly pissed myself at the thought of a female Sev. Actually, I'm surprised you didn't either come up with the right theory immediately or point out the fatal flaw in my plotline. Oh well, blame it on the Pratchett I guess. And no more fags for me. But cookies are good. Mmm...cookies...

I'm hoping to get another chapter up in the next day or so which won't be treading over JK's ground, so don't judge this as the latest installment! They come in twos: Snape, and...whoever or whatever I feel like; things we know, and things my twisted little brain made up. Blame it on too much chocolate/herbal tea/being in bed. Either way, you know the best way to spped my recovery up - **review!**

Becca


	4. 4

Right people, the rating has changed to **M**, and that's for a reason.

_

* * *

1958_

"_We can't do this any more."_

"_Can't do what?"_

"_Please don't do this to me. You know I love you, and we both know that it's wrong. If anyone knew –"_

"_That never bothered you before." His voice was colder now, and she could see the hurt in his eyes. "You're just looking for a reason, aren't you? Just a few more weeks and it can be real. A few more weeks, and you're letting go now. This is it, isn't it? You don't really care about me, do you?"_

"_I do," her eyes filled with unshed tears, "but you don't know what you're getting yourself into. You don't love me, you're too young to know what love is. You're in love with the idea of being in love, and I'm a stupid hag for taking advantage of that."_

_He stroked her cheek gently, and his voice was soft now. "I do love you. I've always loved you; we're made for each other. You told me once that you knew from the very beginning, from the first time you met me. You knew we shared a destiny."_

_She smiled at the memory of him as a child. He was not a child any longer, for he had grown into a beautiful young man, one whom she had watched change and develop but always, always, they had been close. It was wrong and had always been, but she was a great believer in following her heart._

_He, too, was ruled by love, and he had so many times persuaded her that what they had was right. So many times he had forced her into giving him detentions and extra help when she had tried to avoid him, her conscience finally overruling her emotions. But this was not one of those times. This time they had planned to meet, for she knew what she must tell him. She knew that they could never be together, for he was too young to know what he wanted, and she too old to tie him down. By now she should be married with children, not teaching at her old school and taking advantage of pupils silly enough to believe they loved her._

_But she knew she loved him. She loved him more than anything, would give the world, her soul and more to be with him for all eternity, but one thing she wouldn't give was his life, his freedom, his youth. He didn't deserve to be with her, and she knew it all too well. While he was her pupil and she his Professor, it was all a beautiful daydream, but once they entered the real world, it could never work._

"_I know what I said."_

"_Then you can't argue with it. You know it's true. What we have is right and true, and nobody can stop that." His smile and open expression full of innocence and naïveté made her heart melt._

"_Please, don't do this to me. It's already so hard for me."_

"_I love you. How can that be wrong? I know you're trying to do what's best, but you always told me to follow my heart."_

"_I make mistakes," she said quickly, but even more quickly, he replied._

"_Professor Dumbledore taught me that too. It's one of his most important lessons he has to teach, he said. He said that love is more important that anything, stronger than Dark magic, stronger than prejudice or anger or hate…how can he be that wrong?"_

_She sighed, a silent tear falling down her pale cheek. His hand, olive-skinned and so starkly different from her own complexion, brushed it away and kissed the wet skin left behind._

"_I have to leave you, I just have to!"_

"_No you don't. You don't have to do anything you don't want to." He kissed her nose and looked into her eyes. "Please, stay with me. I can't –" He paused, looking deep into her dark eyes with his own pools of emotion. "- I can't go on without you. Please don't make me try."_

_More tears leaked out of her eyes. "You'll – you'll get by alright. You'll realise I was just some silly fantasy, that we could never truly be together."_

_He took her in his arms and held her to him as she sobbed, her body shaking with grief and the premonition of an emptiness which was soon to come. "No I won't. You're the only one I have left." She felt him squeeze her tighter to him, enveloping her. He had grown so big – she was small and slim and now he held her in his huge bear hug. It was so hard for her to remember that he was no longer the child she had first known: he was a man, both physically, emotionally and legally. She knew that, now, they could rightfully be together, but it just wouldn't work and it tore her apart to think of it. And she knew it was true: he had no one. His parents were dead, he had no siblings, and she had taken on the role of mother to him as well as lover. Although lover only in spirit, not in body. Her head and her conscience had managed to prevent her from doing anything she, and he, would both regret._

"_You have your friends."_

"_I don't want my friends, I want you." He paused and drew her away from him, tracing the line of her jaw with one finger, gazing into her eyes with a look of soulful pleading. "I love you."_

"_No you don't, you're too –"_

"_Too young?" His lip curled, and she immediately felt guilty. "That's just an excuse. I'm as much an adult as you, as anyone you could love. I love you."_

"_I know," she said, and forced herself not to speak again, because she knew that if she spoke those fateful words now she would never be able to leave him. Ever._

"_Stay with me, my darling. Just for tonight. If not forever, at least for tonight."_

_As she looked into his eyes once more, she knew there was no denying. She could not, would not refuse him that. She wanted it as much as him, if not more. She nodded mutely and he took her in his arms again, kissing the top of her head and whispering things that only she could hear. She closed her eyes and felt his breath on her neck, the gentle brush of his smooth warm lips against her cold skin. He kissed her, gently, and she shivered. He kissed her neck again and she felt the soft flutter of his eyelashes as he turned his head._

_She sighed and yet another tear dripped down her cheek as she fully realised that she could never have this again. He removed his lips from her skin and, ever so gently, with the tip of his tongue, licked up the salty droplet. She smiled slightly and opened her eyes. He looked up at her, with her sparkling wet lashes, and kissed her lips, tracing the outline of her mouth which he knew so well with his salty tasting tongue. She opened her mouth and felt the warmth and heat of his own, exploring delicately with her tongue. She wrapped one arm around his neck and tangled the other in his soft, silky dark locks. His right arm tightened its grip around her small waist, while his left helped her shrug off her already loosened outer robes._

_He then placed this hand on her upper thigh, lifting her so she no longer touched the ground, her legs wrapped around his hips. Her hand moved from his neck to his shoulders, and she made tiny circles on the smooth skin between his hair and his collar. He gave an almost silent groan in the back of his throat, and she smiled. She detached her lips from his and began to kiss his jaw, feeling his thin layer of stubble rough against her skin. She rubbed her cheek against his jaw, and stuck her tongue out, caressing his earlobe. He gave a deep chuckle, and squeezed her tighter._

_She pulled away, but when he made a puppydog face, she grinned again and began to kiss his neck once more. Tantalisingly slowly, her hands moved to his collar, where one shirt button was already undone. She began, just as slowly, to undo the others, one hand slipping beneath the white cotton to wander over toned muscles and smooth, velvety skin. He cupped her chin and licked her nose, making her giggle._

_He moved both his hand beneath her derrière, and she clung to his neck again as he walked slowly over to the bed in the room which had always been there, but had never been used by this couple. She supposed that the Room of Requirements appeared this was to any lovers in need of a private place. He sat her down on the edge of the bed, his hands brushing against the luxurious fabric. She motioned for him to lay down, and he did so, raising an eyebrow as she smiled._

_She climbed onto his hips, straddling him. Though she could feel him beneath her, she did not do anything which suggested so. She bent forwards and kissed his collarbone, most of his shirt now hanging open revealing his tanned, muscular chest. She decided not to tease him about sunbeds or vanity, but just to enjoy him. She lay down on his chest and breathed in the smell of him; the pure masculinity. He stroked her hair as it lay across his skin, chocolate brown against olive. Finally, she raised her head, looking t him through her long dark lashes. All he could see in her eyes was love, and she could not deny that he returned it._

_She sat up slightly and, undoing the remaining buttons of his school shirt, slipped it from his shoulders, kissing each one as she went. She continued across his collarbone, down his chest to his stomach and the fine trail of hair which led her lower. He took her by the waist at this point, though, and kissed her again. Taking this as a signal, she moved forwards to meet his embrace._

_His hands had moved beneath her deep green sweater and his thumbs caressed her skin. Slowly and cautiously, he raised her sweater and pulled it over her head. She shook her hair free and looked down at him, smiling. He had never seen her this way before: they had shared chaste kisses and lingering embraces, but never had she allowed him this physical contact, for if she did she knew she would not be able to let go. She had seen him in the showers after quidditch practice; he had no secrets from her. She was not embarrassed, however. She relished every second he spent on her and she on him. This, to her, was a dream come true._

_He smiled up at her in adoration, not caring that her bra was only simple black satin. He brushed his hands over her bare shoulders and she shivered at his touch. He then ran his hands down her sides, feeling the expanse of warm skin that he had never before been allowed to touch. He kissed her collarbone as she had done him, and kissed all the way down her body, between her breasts and over her stomach, until he reached the waistband of her skirt. Then he leaned forwards and took her in his arms again, whispering softly in her ear "You're beautiful."_

_He pulled her skirt down over her hips and she kicked it to the floor. She unzipped his black school trousers and tugged them down, not caring for once that he was so young and so vulnerable. He unclasped her bra and puled that off too, and she pressed herself against him, wanting to feel his body against hers, as close as they had ever been._

_They lay like that, basking in each other's heat and softness of naked skin for what could have been hours: not speaking, not moving, not thinking, just lying in each other's company. Side by side they lay, staring into each other's eyes, hardly breathing. They leaned forward for a kiss, and that tiny contact between their lips set them off again, unable to resist now the call of their bodies._

_Again he ran his hands down her sides, over her hips, down her thighs. He caressed the satin of her underwear as it lay, tight against her skin. She, too, moved her hands all over him, and arched her back as his fingers came to rest on her nipples. He flipped her over and began to rub them, teasing, kissing, stroking, nibbling. She groaned at the feel of his hot mouth over her hard nipple and he reached out to lick. She writhed, moaning more, and he removed his mouth only to blow on the wet patch he had left, causing her skin to tingle even more._

_She pulled him by the shoulders and kissed him deeply, feeling him hard against the inside of her thigh. She opened her eyes to see him looking back at her, his eyes full of lust. He gave a deep groan in the back of his throat as she reached down her hand and caressed him. He grabbed her hand, in control, and kissed it, laying it back down beside her head. He kissed her nipple again and felt her writhe, then replaced his mouth with his fingers._

_She lay in ecstasy, soaking up everything he was giving her. This couldn't be a mistake. It had never been like this, ever. Could anyone not in love experience a feeling like this?_

_He traced the nails of his other hand down the centre of her stomach, making her squirm. As his hand touched satin, she shivered. He looked up at her, asking her permission, and she smiled. His hand moved lower and his nails began to brush, very gently, against her. The satin was moist and she moaned, willing him to stop the teasing. Minutes of this went by, her breathing becoming heavier and her groans becoming more audible, when he suddenly yanked down her underwear. Exposed to the air at last, she lay and breathed, her chest heaving, slick with sweat._

_He sat up and gazed at her, taking in everything about her. She watched as his eyes roved all over her body, not minding the needy and wanting expression upon his face. He rubbed the whole of his hands down her body, his palms teasing her nipples again. She groaned as his hands slipped down the insides of her thighs, just inches away but not touching. Then he lowered his mouth to her thigh, swirling his tongue on the sensitive skin. She tried to reach down and move his head only a few inches higher, but he wouldn't let her. He continued to nibble and suck, leaving a trail of tiny love bites, until he finally reached the place she wanted him to be. He paused and blew on her, making her moan louder than she had before. He then lowered his tongue and gave a tentative lick and she moaned, long and deep. He drew away again and she opened her mouth in protest, but he put a finger to his lips and she shut it grudgingly._

_Without warning, he plunged his tongue deep inside her and she stuffed her fist in her mouth, not wanting to scream. Neither of them had bothered to check if the Room of Requirements had silencing spells around it. After all, neither had thought they would be needing them… He removed his head and looked at her silently. Seeing the look on his face, she leaned forwards and pulled down his boxer shorts, discarding them on the floor where their other clothes had ended up. She reached out to touch him, but he shook his head._

_Parting her legs gently, he plunged into her. Again she had to stifle a scream with her hand, and she clung to him as he began to move. Deep inside her, the friction between them caused pants, groans and moans from both of them, each indistinguishable in their pleasure from the other. Finally, after minutes of thrusting hips, arching backs and sweat-slicked bodies, he came inside of her and her walls contracted around him. Both minds went blank for a fraction of a second, though it felt like far longer, and they surfaced, panting, from their shared eruption._

_Moments later, his voice full of emotion, he looked deep into her eyes and said, "I love you."_

_And when she looked back , she found herself replying, "I love you too." And, unbidden, tears came to her eyes again._

_A look of pain and confusion upon his face, he asked, "Why? Why are you crying?"_

"_Because –" she began, and her voice faltered, "Because I can never leave you."_

* * *

Ookay, that was interesting. Took me a couple of hours to write - I started as soon as I had the previous one up, andI got a review! Yay!

**risi**Thanks, I'm a little better. Dunno if I'll go back to school tomorrow or not, we'll have to see. I hope it'll be understandable even if it's totally random (which is most likely). Thanks a million!

It may be a while now, though the more you ask me, the more I'll write!

**Review** foor the poor ill girl...

Becca


	5. 5

"Severus, there is something I should have told you years ago."

"Really, Albus? This sounds like one of those conversations you have at the end of every one of Potter's infernal adventures."

"That thought had occurred to me also. You and Mr Potter have many things in common, the most notable –"

"Potter and myself have nothing in common. He is pampered and egotistical, whereas I -"

"Still have much to learn, I see. As I was saying, many parallels can be drawn between the two of you, however much it irks you to hear me say it."

"I am sure, Headmaster, that you have your reasons for saying this, but I do not see the reason or your bringing Potter into this conversation."

"If you will allow me, Severus, I will make myself clear in time." Severus nodded, his face not betraying any emotion. "You, like Mr Potter, have spent most of your life feeling misunderstood. You both have had unfortunate family lives, which has reflected on each of you. Also, and this is the part of our conversation it pains me most to speak of, you have both spent a large portion of your lives so far without me telling you the truth."

Snap's mouth was twitching, apparently without his knowledge, as he stared at the Headmaster. He did not speak, however, but waited for Dumbledore to continue. "Harry never knew that he would have to kill Voldemort, a truth which you and I are the only two to know of."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Nothing directly, I suppose, although it is a strange thing to consider. You remember, Severus, the people you grew up with?"

Severus nodded curtly. "My mother and that intolerable –"

"Well, Severus, the thing is…"

"Albus, are you finally going to tell me why I had to live with them? He wasn't even my father, and you know what he did to me. To me and my mother. You know what it drove her to, and you didn't –"

"Severus, please listen carefully to me now, and let me finish what I have to say before you attempt to hex me. The man you lived with was not your father. Nor was Eileen Prince your mother."

"_What?_"

"Severus, please –"

"Albus, I have a lesson to go to," and, without a goodbye, Snape flung open the door of Dumbledore's office and swept out, slamming the door behind him. The older wizard glanced at the clock on the wall above the door, and sighed. It was a full hour before Severus had to teach another lesson.

x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x

"And what is all this noise about?" Severus said in a soft, deadly voice. He had seen the argument between Potter and his little pals and Draco Malfoy. Now it was time to pay Potter back. As his Potions class clamoured to explain what happened, Severus pointed at Malfoy and said, "Explain."

"Potter attacked me, sir –"

"We attacked each other at the same time!" Potter shouted, and Severus seethed.

"- and he hit Goyle – look –"

Severus examined Goyle, whose face now resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi. "Hospital wing, Goyle," he said calmly.

"Malfoy got Hermione!" Weasley said. "_Look!_"

Snape smirked as Weasley forced Hermione to show him her teeth. He had no sympathy for _anyone_ associated with Potter, whatever – but as he saw her teeth, he had to control his expression. She tried to cover them with her hands, but this was difficult as they had now grown down past her collar.

He looked at her coldly, and then said, "I see no difference."

Granger let out a whimper; her eyes filled with tears, she turned on her heel and ran, ran all the way up the corridor and out of sight. Severus watched her go with a strangely empty feeling. He was not angry any more, merely – he was distracted by Potter and Weasley.

It was lucky for them, perhaps, that they both started shouting at Severus at the same time; lucky their voices echoed so much in the stone corridor, for in the confused din, it was impossible for him to hear exactly what they were calling him. He got the gist, however.

"Let's see," he said, in his silkiest voice. "Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention each for Potter and Weasley. Now get inside, or it'll be a week's worth of detentions."

Severus watched with a sense of satisfaction as Potter and Weasley shook with anger, slamming their bags down on separate tables. It had not escaped his notice that the dream team had encountered a blip in their perfect partnership. Maybe now, Potter would get a sense of what it was like to be an outcast. Dumbledore was quite wrong when he compared Potter to Severus; that was clear to anyone who knew the two of them. But, after all, who really knew Severus Snape? He smiled to himself.

"Antidotes!" Severus said, looking around at the class, an unpleasant smile on his face. "You should all have prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully," _not_ that that would make any difference in Longbottom's case, "and then we will be selecting someone on whom to test one…"

Severus' eyes met Potter's, and he could see by the look on Potter's arrogant face that he knew what was coming. Severus was going to poison _him_. In fact, why not use Longbottom's antidote? After all, if ever there was an antidote that surely wouldn't work…

And then a knock on the dungeon door burst in on Severus' thoughts. It was Creevey, that annoying Gryffindor twerp that worshipped Potter, not that any Gryffindor didn't; he edged into the room, beaming at Potter, and walked up to Severus' desk at the front of the room.

"Yes?" said Severus curtly.

"Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Harry Potter upstairs."

Severus stared at Creevey, whose grin rapidly faded. He would be damned if Potter got out of being poisoned. He always seemed to wriggle his way out of things, but not this time.

"Potter has another hour of Potions to complete. He will come upstairs when this class is finished."

Creevey went pink. "Sir – sir, Mr Bagman wants him," he said nervously. "All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs…"

"Very well, very well," Snape snapped. He couldn't believe Potter's luck, yet again. "Potter, leave your things here, I want you back down here later to test your antidote."

"Please, sir –" Creevey said plaintively, "he's got to take his things with him. All the champions –"

"Very _well_!" Snape almost shouted. But he would not lose his cool. He had not lost it with Dumbledore, and so he would not lose it with Potter. "Potter – take your bag and get out of my sight!" It gave Severus only a small feeling of satisfaction as he watched 'Potter Stinks' flash from every direction.

x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x

Severus stormed back to his office after the lesson to find a note waiting for him on his desk. It read:

_'Severus,_

_When you are ready to hear what I have got to say, I will be happy to continue. Enjoy the rest of your day,_

_Albus Dumbledore'_

Severus growled in the back of his throat. The man was so _infuriating_. First he admits to lying for Severus' whole life, then he expects him to just accept the fact? Well, he had no plans to turn around and listen. What did it really matter, anyway? It wasn't as if Dumbledore could just change the past.

x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x

The only time Severus really had in which to vent his frustration were the detentions that he had given to Potter and Weasley. He took great delight in forcing the two of them to pickle rats' brains in his dungeon for two hours, but even this didn't relieve him of the anger and confusion which had irked him constantly since his conversation with Dumbledore. He was beginning to think that he would have been better to listen to the Headmaster, if only to understand. His resolve was stronger than that, however. He would listen to Dumbledore only when Dumbledore begged him to.

* * *

Short, but a good jobI hope. Please lemme know what you reckon - I'm kinda enjoying writing something intriguing.

Becca


	6. Embroiled

_She took a deep breath and knocked softly on the door, hoping in spite of herself that the Headmaster wouldn't answer. However, just as she was turning away to descend the moving staircase, she heard, "Enter." Inhaling even more deeply, she screwed her eyes up and opened the door. It shouldn't be this hard, she thought, to do the little thing she had to do. After all, she didn't have to tell him a thing, not if she didn't want to._

_"Good evening, Professor Snape," Dumbledore said jovially, "to what do I owe this honour?"_

_She tried in vain to smile back. "I need to speak to you, Professor. Could I – could I ask you to keep this private?"_

_Behind the twinkling blue eyes there was no hint of what Dumbledore was thinking. It was strange, she thought to herself, that a face so full of warmth and openness could hide so much. "By all means." He smiled again, and she felt distinctly unnerved._ _Not knowing whether he had already formed his opinion of her actions ,or whether he genuinely had no idea of what she was here to speak to him about was confusing to the point of anxiety."Take a seat."_

_She did as he said, and took more deep breaths. The quicker she got it over with, the less painful it would be.Without consciously deciding what she was planning to say, she blurted out, "I want to resign, Professor."_

_"Resign?" Dumbledore almost looked taken aback, but after a second his face was back to its usual expression of curious compassion. "You want to resign?"_

_"Yes, Professor," she said quietly. "Well actually, it's more a case of _needing_ to resign."_

_"Oh?" The Headmaster didn't look compassionate any more; his expression was guarded, as if reserving judgement. "Well, I'm sure no one has found fault with your teaching these past years. In fact, many will be very sorry to see you leave us. Therefore, I must ask: why do you feel you need to resign?"_

_"Professor –" she stifled the tears which she could feel prickling behind her eyes, "I really don't want to have to tell you." He looked at her just as blankly, and she found herself continuing. "It's so stupid! I don't want to know what you'll think of me, I know I've let you down, but somehow, somehow I think –"_

_"You think I have a right to know?"_

_She nodded mutely, refusing to look at Dumbledore. Her eyes wandered across the walls, but she couldn't look there either; the faces of the ancient witches and wizards lining the office looked at her as inquisitively as she knew Dumbledore must now be doing. They, however,had none of his restraint. She saw them whispering behind their hands and giving her dark looks with narrowed eyes. Thus, she found herself looking back at the Headmaster._

_"Can I suggest that it might be easier just to tell me what is wrong? I find that problems often become much easier to manage once one has set them free."_

_She knew that this problem couldn't just go away the way Dumbledore seemed to have a knack of vanishing other issues which arose at Hogwarts. She agreed with him, however, that maybe it would be best to just let it out. That way she would be able to say her piece and leave, not having to see the look on Dumbledore's face. Dumbledore: her protector; her mentor; the man who had given her this job when she hadn't known quite what to do with herself._

_"I'm pregnant."_

_The silence rang as loudly as if the wind was howling through the office, and she felt the urge to clap her hands against her ears and sob. Her eyes stung and her throat ached, and there was a pit of fire in her stomach. Saying it, speaking out loud the words she knew were true; this made it real. There was no going back now, not even in her mind._

_Dumbledore tentatively broke the silence. "Well…" He paused briefly, then continued as if determined to make the conversation seem as natural as possible. "In normal circumstances, I would offer you congratulations. However -" Ah yes, she thought, 'however' was such a horrible word. It sounded so innocent, but invariably led to something highly embarrassing or disappointing. "- there is obviously something out of the ordinary going on here."_

_She nodded briefly in agreement, and concentrated her gaze on a point several inches above Dumbledore's left ear. She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but her throat was so dry that the only noise she made was a croaking kind of gasp. She felt so pathetic and guilty that her eyes stung again, but she blinked back her tears; she was not the one who deserved to cry. She was the one in the wrong, and she would damn well show that she knew it; there'd be no feeling sorry for herself._

_"Just tell me," said Dumbledore gently, "was it a student or a teacher?"_

_"A student," she said, so quietly that the Headmaster obviously had difficulty hearing her response._

_"Ah," he sighed, "that makes things so much more complicated."_

_"Tell me about it," she said without thinking. To her surprise, Dumbledore gave a small chuckle, and she found herself grinning back rather sheepishly._

_"You see," Dumbledore smiled, "even in the face of great difficulty, humour is a wonderful remedy."_

_"Remedy?" she enquired bluntly, her smile fading. "There is no remedy, you and I both know that."_

_"Indeed," Dumbledore sighed, in one of those rare moments when she had seen his vulnerability, "you are sadly correct. However, what is done is done, and there can be no erasing the past. Always look on the bright side of life, as they say."_

_She gave a derisive snort, forgetting for the moment her astonishment at Dumbledore's apparent lack of anger. "What bright side is there to look on? I love this job, and now I have to leave it. They say love means sacrifice, but what more will I have to do? I've already told him that we can't be together because he's too young, and…and because…" she trailed off, looking at Dumbledore. He was about to speak, and she knew what he would say._

_"A seventh year?" Again, she nodded dumbly. Dumbledore sighed, and said, "Mr Dalton?"_

_She tried to nod, or speak, or make some kind of signal, but found herself paralysed. This reaction was completely alien to her; she had never before had to make this kind of confession, and was finding it heart-wrenching. Having to tell someone for whom you have unconditional respect that you have exploited their trust is one of the most painful things a person can do. Unfortunately for her, along with it in that list is having to leave the one person you've ever truly loved, knowing that if you just reach out and do what you want to do, it would all be so simple…_

_"Oh, Marie…I just don't know what to say." She was sobbing now, her face buried in her hands. Dumbledore's sympathy tore her apart more than any screaming, yelling or violence could have done. She would never have expected these from Dumbledore, of course, but his total lack of hatred towards her…it was impossible to comprehend. All she wanted was to be screamed and yelled at; kicked or punched; any kind of physical punishment instead of this internal agony she was enduring, day after day. "I cannot pretend that I approve of what you have done, or that I am not, at least, disappointed."_

_"I know," she almost screamed at him, "I know! I wish I could take it all back, I wish I'd never – I wish it had never started."_

_"Do you?" asked Dumbledore quietly, steepling his long fingers together on the desk._

_"Of course I do!" she said, keeping her voice as even as possible, "Who wouldn't? Why would I want to have wasted my whole life; my whole career; just to leave my job and the life I know in disgrace?"_

_Dumbledore studied her intently with his penetrating blue gaze, and got to his feet. Confused, her eyes followed him as he strode over to a cabinet behind his desk, pulled out a shimmering golden object and placed it on his desk. It was a Time-Turner. She watched as the Headmaster levitated the hourglass above his desk and flipped it over three times. One…two…three weeks. Three weeks exactly. But how did he know?_

_"Three weeks," Dumbledore said, echoing unwittingly her thoughts of a moment before. "All you have to do is reach out and touch it, and it will take you back. You can do it all again. Just reach out and touch it. I will be waiting here when you return."_

_Her breath hitched in her throat. It was really that easy. She had never meant for the past to actually be changed. She wished it hadn't happened, but – no, she didn't want that. She didn't want the most beautiful experience of her life to be erased. The thought of him not sharing her memory of what they had done…she would rather be facing the loss of her job and her life she had built for herself than lose that. In some ways, that was a comforting thought. Her hand was hovering over the Time-Turner and, as she realised this, she pulled it back like lightning._

_"No," she said firmly._

_"No?" Dumbledore smiled, and her heart sank. He had known she wouldn't do it all along. But he had still given her the chance._

_"No," she said with grim resolve. "But you knew I wouldn't, didn't you?"_

_"You had the chance and you chose not to take it. That is your decision to make, and not mine. Are you sure?" She nodded resolutely, and with a flick of Dumbledore's wand, the Time-Turner was back in its cabinet. "In that case," he said, steepling his fingers again on the polished wood of his desk, "we can talk about the future. There is no point, I find, in trying to discuss what is to come when one's mind is still firmly in the past."_

_She sighed. "You're right, of course. But Professor, I don't know if you understand."_

_"I'm sure I don't. One cannot hope to comprehend the inner workings of another person's experiences without aid. Please, do enlighten me."_

_"Professor Dumbledore, I love him. I know that doesn't make what I did any better, but it makes it so much harder! It would be so easy just never to see him again, leave and have my baby. Well, not easy, but I think you know what I mean. Professor?"_

_"I understand that, at least. But on the contrary – that fact does make it better. However, I myself was never in doubt about the fact that you thought you loved him, and he loved you."_

_"I thought I loved him? I do love him! We wouldn't be having this conversation if I didn't! Can't you see that?" She got to her feet, truly angry now. "Do you think I would try to ruin someone because I had some kind of stupid crush on him? Do you really think that little of me?" She knew she was being overzealous, especially as Dumbledore had all the right in the world to think as little of her as he wished._

_"That is not what I meant."_

_"What did you mean then?" she snapped, suddenly loathing everything about Dumbledore, from his pointy hat to the tips of his purple and gold slippers poking out from under his robes._

_"I meant," Dumbledore said, not seeming to notice the horrible look she was giving him, "that love is fleeting. Can you honestly see yourself still in love with him in fifty years' time, when you are growing old and ugly and wrinkled?"_

_"Yes! Of course I can! Do you think I don't know what love is?" This was a stupid thing to say, as Dumbledore knew more about her than anyone else in the world did, apart from an obvious exception._

_"Oh, I think you know what love is. But the question is," the Headmaster asked softly and gently, looking directly at her, "does he?" _

_This question seemed to bounce around in her skull for an age before the meaning penetrated. She could hear Dumbledore's words still echoing in her ears. She had always wondered; always wondered if she was kidding herself. She had never thought that he truly loved her, for he was too young to know…but he had asked her to have faith in him, and she had tried.Otherwise, she would never have… But had she made a horrible mistake? Had she taken advantage of him after all? She broke down into tears again, her head falling onto her arms as she sat down heavily, leaning on Dumbledore's desk._

_"The mere fact that this question has reduced you to tears," Dumbledore said quietly, "proves to me that you have doubted him. If you knew you loved each other as a couple would have to do to get through this, I don't believe you would have this doubt."_

_She wanted to retort. She wanted to say, 'Of course he loves me! He loves me as much as I love him! How could you even doubt it?' but she couldn't. She didn't know, and she felt that she would have known, if it were true. Instead, she took a deep breath and tried to clam down. Dumbledore waited patiently until the tears stopped leaking from her eyes, then waited just as patiently for her to speak._

_"Fine. Maybe he loves me, maybe he doesn't. I'm sure that's irrelevant anyway." She didn't sound convinced, even to her own ears, but Dumbledore didn't question her. "What do I do now?"_

_"Are you set on leaving?"_

_"Yes," she replied without hesitation. "Whatever else may happen, Hogwarts will bring back too many memories for me now, good and bad."_

_"You will always be welcome here, you know," Dumbledore said, his voice tinged with sadness._

_"Welcomed by you, yes, but perhaps not by others. Either way, that's the one thing I've been able to make my mind up about."_

_The Headmaster didn't argue. "And what of your child?"_

_She looked shocked for a minute. "You aren't suggesting I wouldn't keep it?"_

_Dumbledore shrugged. "There is always a choice."_

_"I could never let go of something I love so much." She wondered for a moment what she was talking about: the child or his father._

_"Indeed, love is a strange and powerful thing," Dumbledore smiled._

_"You've always taught me that."_

_Dumbledore smiled again, wistfully this time, and said, "If there's one thing I can teach the world, I would like it to be love."_

_Coming from anyone else, this would have been a bizarre statement, but coming from Dumbledore it just sounded true. "Everyone has to have a legacy."_

_"Ah, but everyone has love as a legacy."_

_"Not everyone," she contradicted. "Some people aren't as fortunate as that. To have loved and lost is better than never to have loved."_

_"You're wise beyond your years," Dumbledore said, with that expression of his that was entirely honest without being completely serious._

_"I'm not so young any more," she sighed. "If I have to grow old, I should get some compensation!"_

_"Nonsense, you're not yet old. A similar age to most mothers having their first child, in fact." Now he looked wistful again, and just a little sad. _

_She smiled regretfully, and said, "A new life in the world can't be a bad thing."_

_Dumbledore looked at her intensely. "But a life without love is a terrible thing," he said. "Promise me that you will love this child, however much pain you must go through in the coming months. Never blame this baby for any of it, for no one can be responsible for events in which they have no choice."_

_She knew that Dumbledore was gently reminding her that it had been her choice and, ultimately, her fault, but she didn't mind. "How could I not love the child of someone I love so much? No matter -" she said as she saw Dumbledore about to speak, "- whether he loves me or not, I love him, and I will love his child just as dearly, and probably more so."_

_He nodded. "Well spoken. However, I must press upon you the necessity to consider other matters."_

_Ah, other matters. "You mean what I will do about –" She couldn't speak his name. It was strange, after all she had told Dumbledore already, but she just couldn't mention him like that. It would be too painful, somehow._

_"Yes," Dumbledore said, without needing her to finish. "What will happen now?"_

_"I – I really don't know, Professor." She looked up at him, blinking back tears again, imploring him to give her the answers as he was so invariably able to._

_"Do you want my advice?"_

_"Yes, yes please," she almost begged._

_"Well… You are not going to like what I say, whatever I say and however I say it." She nodded but didn't speak, showing that she understood and wouldn't question the Headmaster. "End it," he said bluntly. "There is no other way."_

_"No other –" she went pale, willing herself to have misheard. After all, if Dumbledore said… "No other way?"_

_Dumbledore bowed his head. "How else would you have it? Would you marry him? Watch as he sees you grow old?"_

_"I couldn't – oh, I don't know! How am I supposed to know?"_

_"No one can really know the correct choice in such a situation, but my advice is to leave him, and sooner rather than later. This way will cause the least pain, for him at least. Surely, if what you say is true, that is what you want."_

_"Of course I want that! But isn't there some other –" she tailed off, looking distraught. She knew the answer to her own unfinished question. Dumbledore shook his head, and her shoulders slumped. She started again, so quietly this time that the Headmaster had to lean towards her to hear what she had to say. "What will I tell him? About – about our baby?"_

_Again, Dumbledore sighed. "Do what you think is best. Which way will make it easier for him? To know that you are carrying his child, or to believe that you need never see each other again?"_

_"He – if he knew, he wouldn't let me end it. He'd want to be there, I know he would. But that means – that means I can't tell him. How can I bring up a child like that, never being able to tell them who their father is; no child wants that, I should know."_

_"You will fall in love again," Dumbledore said gently. "You will find someone to be a father to this child. Someone old enough and wise enough to do the best he can, and be truly devoted in a way –"_

_She interrupted him. "Don't say it. Please don't say he couldn't, because I'd have to contradict you. Please, just let him alone. Whether he could be a good father or not isn't what matters, so please…" she trailed off, looking at Dumbledore._

_"Indeed. I apologise. Now, to the matter in hand. Are we agreed?"_

_"I suppose so," she said sadly, not quite able to comprehend the decision she had just made – or had she been the one to make it? – or what was ahead of her, "but what choice do I have?"_

_"There is always a choice, and the choice is so often between what is right and what is easy. One has to ask oneself: if I take the easy path, will it ever become right, or will it lead to worse pain than the other path could ever have done?"_

_"I see," she said slowly. "If we try to stay together, but it doesn't work out because he needs someone younger and with less responsibility and, and everything else, and he leaves, then it'll leave me ripped apart with a child who's had to see their father leave and their mother a snivelling wreck."_

_"In a word, yes."_

_"In that case," she said, her face almost completely devoid of emotion, "I know what to do. Thank you, Professor."_

_She stood up slowly, mechanically, and began to walk towards the door. As she was about to leave, she turned to Dumbledore, who said, "The best of luck, my dear. I will always be here." She didn't answer, but left, walking just as steadily and robotically as she had a moment before. She couldn't have known what was to come – who could? After all, it is not every day that one has to make such a potentially disastrous decision._

_x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x_

_She waited for him, as she always did, by a rock at the edge of the lake. She sat with her knees hugged to her chest, looking more childlike than he had ever seen her. More vulnerable. He walked up behind her, and she didn't look up. Either she was deeply absorbed in thought or felt no need to greet him. Sometimes they were like that; they would sit, silently, for endless minutes, not needing to communicate verbally what each of them was thinking. Today he sat down beside her and spoke. She looked up, startled._

_"Aren't you cold? You've left your cloak inside."_

_"It's June, I'm not cold," she said, but gave an involuntary shiver. It wasn't from the cold, but he couldn't have known that._

_"You're a bad liar."_

_"And you're a filthy hypocrite," she smiled, "I don't see you wearing a cloak."_

_"But you don't see me shivering either."_

_She cursed herself inwardly; she had promised herself that she wouldn't let herself get drawn in by him. She wouldn't leave any time for mercy: she would say her piece and leave. A part of her knew it could never be that easy, but still she kidded herself._

_"Michael, I –"_

_"Shh, don't talk. Listen."_

_She listened, her head on his shoulder. She could hear all the sounds of the night, from the hooting of owls on their moonlit hunts to the rustle of trees in the forest. She tried to steel herself to speak again; to tell him that it was over, that she didn't love him any more. Somehow, though, her voice just didn't want to work. Suddenly, he sat up, turning to face her with a hand on her cheek._

_"What's the matter?"_

_"Nothing, I'm fine," she lied, mentally kicking herself again for being such a damn coward._

_"Don't lie to me," he said, and there was an undertone to his voice that was almost menacing, although not in a sinister way. She knew that he hated to be lied to, and loathed herself even more for what she was putting him through._

_"Alright. Fine, I won't lie to you any more. I don't love you."_

_"You don't –" his normally pale face was now ashen. "You're lying."_

_"No I'm not," she said, willing herself not to fall upon him in floods of tears. She had to stay strong._

_"I don't believe you," he said softly. He wasn't angry – it would have been better if he were. He took her face in his hands and gazed into her eyes._

_"You have to believe me. I don't love you, and I'm sorry I lied to you, but you've got to believe me now. I'm ending it, Michael. This was all a stupid mistake."_

_"A stupid mistake? How can you say that? Why are you doing this!" This last question came out as a strangled shriek, and it made her heart ache to hear it._

_"I've told you why, Michael. I don't love you, and I can't go on lying to you, it's not fair."_

_"Not fair? _Not fair?_ Why are you doing this? I love you! Why are you trying to do this?"_

_"I have to, you're blind, don't you see? You're blinded by the idea of being in love. I don't love you and you don't love me. That's all it was – a fling. A stupid fling."_

_He let go of her face and sank to his knees, somehow seeming to shrink. He was an eleven year old boy again, awed at a Potions lesson. It was nigh impossible for her to hurt him like this, but she remembered what Dumbledore had said: "Surely you don't want to cause him pain." This was the least painful way in the end -–they could both move on, fall in love again, and start whole new lives. They would each become a fond memory in the other's mind, a "What if?" kind of daydream._

_"Please, don't make this harder than it already is," she begged._

_"It doesn't have to be hard!" he said softly, looking at her with imploring eyes. "You don't have to do this! Things are perfect as they are, we can leave and get married and have children and grow old together, and spend our whole lives never having to be apart! I love you and you love me and we were meant to be together!"_

_She broke down into tears at his words; they had never talked about life after Hogwarts, about getting married, or having children, or anything like that. It had been her dream for as long as she had loved him, and that seemed like an eternity. Now the first was an impossibility and the second inescapable. How ironic life could be._

_"I don't love you!" she sobbed, trying to convince herself as much as him, but she knew it was no use. She could see it in his eyes: he knew she loved him and he would never let that go._

_"Yes you do. I don't know why you're doing this, but I'm not going to let you go like that. I love you, and I'll fall apart without you, you know that. And I can't imagine you'd do great without me either. We're a huge part of each other's lives now, whether we like it or not. What are you afraid of, darling?"_

_"I'm not afraid of anything," she said, resolutely looking anywhere but his eyes, "I just don't love you. Is that so difficult to understand?"_

_"Of course it's hard to understand! We've been through all this together, and now you're telling me you're not in love with me…do you think I'm stupid? Do you really have that little respect for me that you think I'll just swallow this and let you rip up everything I've ever had? Do you?" He was angry now, but it was that kind of quiet anger that showed that, inside, he was screaming._

_She tried to numb her feelings of terrible guilt, and the urge she felt to take him in her arms and make it all right again. "It's not that –"_

_"Then what is it? If you want this to end – want _us_ to end – you could at least be honest. I think I deserve that, don't you?" he said quietly, and, to her complete astonishment, she saw tears in his eyes. He wasn't a man who showed weaknesses; telling her he loved her had been hard enough, but on this occasion he couldn't hide the horrible, gut-wrenching grief he felt._

_She knew – they both knew – that this was the point of no return. Whatever decision she made now would be irreversible. If she told him the truth, the whole truth, she couldn't take it back. But she knew she couldn't tell him that, for he wouldn't let her leave, and she wouldn't want to leave, if she did. She couldn't keep up this lie either, for he just wasn't willing to accept it. She would just have to strike some kind of sordid compromise._

_"Alright, fine. Have it your way. I'm leaving Hogwarts and I'm leaving everyone. No negotiations, no ties. It's complicated, so don't ask me to explain."_

_"So you do love me." It wasn't a question, it wasn't a statement._

_"I never said that."_

_"But you didn't contradict it."_

_"Look, that's not the issue here." She was angry too. Why did he have to make it so hard? Didn't he understand that she wouldn't do this unless she really needed to?_

_"If you say so," he sighed. "I can see I'm not going to get anywhere tonight. But I swear I'll never give up on you. Never ever, not as long as I live. I'll always love you, and I know you'll love me too, somewhere in that heart of yours."_

_She felt paralysed, unable to do anything but try to fight the tears as he got to his feet and walked away, the moonlight casting an eerie glow over him. He looked like some kind of ghost, she thought; the ghost of what she could have had._

_x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x_

_He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, zapping flies in the stifling heat. He felt hollow; there was no other word for it. He tried to block the sound of his parents yelling, and rolled over onto his front, clamping a pillow over his ears. He couldn't hear their shouts any more, but he clamed the pillow down harder and harder, trying to block his thoughts too._

_He had tried to reach her. Every day he had gone to her office; sometimes he had sat outside for hours into the night, waiting for her to return from dinner; sometimes he had knocked and knocked until his knuckles bled, when he knew she knew he was there. Every time he saw her in a corridor, he would push and shove his way towards her, but by the time he reached her, she would disappear without a trace._

_He heard the distant strains of music from the kitchen below; it was the song his mother always played as she cried, and she cried more often now than he could ever remember. He hated his father, and his mother too, for staying with him._

'Waking up here on a rainy day 

_I swore last time that I would stay away_

_I came down here to talk to you_

_I said this time I might get through_

_I heard her speak but all the words were dead_

_We talked all night and left it all unsaid_

_So we agree to disagree_

_At least we've got our memories'_

_He tried to block the music out too, but even when he couldn't hear it, it still played on relentlessly in his head. He began to cry, his shoulders shaking as they hadn't done since he was a little boy._

_'Whatever's written in your heart_

_That's all that matters, yeah_

_We'll find a way to say it all, someday'_

_It was the kind of sobbing that people reserved for funerals. That kind of dull, aching pain inside that meant you had finally realised that you'd lost something you would never, ever, get back. There was no restraint, no pattern to his tears. He cried like a child, letting all the pain and anguish fly out of him, his breath rattling and chest hitching. He finally knew, at this moment, that he could never get her back. She had gone for good, and there was nothing he could do. If she didn't want to be found, he would never be able to find her. If she didn't want to be loved, he would never be able to love her._

_'You've got your secrets, yeah, and I've got mine_

_We've played this game now for a long, long time_

_You don't lean on anyone_

_You never had no place to run_

_You never wanted me to get too close_

_We love and hate the ones we need the most_

_I tried to find a way to you_

_One thing I could say to you'_

_He had meant it when he said, "I swear I'll never give up on you. Never ever, not as long as I live. I'll always love you." Maybe she would move on, but he couldn't. He knew that he would spent his life, from this moment on, searching for the woman he loved who didn't want to be found. He could never hope to find her: she had years of magical experience to utilise, and he would always be one step behind. He knew that, and it killed him inside to know that he would spend the rest of his life this way._

_'Whatever's written in your heart_

_That's all that matters, yeah_

_We'll find a way to say it all, someday'_

_He wished, for the first time in his life, that he was a Muggle. He could die sooner, and have his heartache over with. He wondered whether, in a hundred years' time, he would be able to feel her die, years before him. Would it feel like a weight lifted, or would it rip whatever remained of his heart into shreds? Would he die too? He supposed if it was possible to die of a broken heart, he would already have done so._

_'Maybe I've always set my sights too high_

_You take the easy way and still get by_

_I know there ain't no special way_

_We all get there anyway_

_I heard her speak but all the words were dead_

_We talked all night and left it all unsaid_

_So we agree to disagree_

_At least we've got our memories'_

_He would never be powerful enough or wise enough to find her. He knew, though, that if he could find her, he could show her he loved her and make it right again. They could still have their future together, with children and grandchildren and growing old. If only he was someone like Dumbledore, with intelligence, power and information at his disposal. He could do it. He could do it if he had power like that. He could get her back and mend his broken heart._

_'Whatever's written in your heart_

_That's all that matters, yeah_

_We'll find a way to say it all, someday'_

_He wasn't afraid of power; he never had been. People talked of Dark magic as harmful, but why should it have to be? Magic is only what its user wants it to be. Dark magic would give him power, but he couldn't use it; he didn't know how._

_He jerked upright as a tapping noise shook him out of his thoughts. A crow was sitting on his windowsill, poking its head around the windowpane. He suddenly wished he hadn't opened the window. Nevertheless, he strode over and removed the scroll of parchment from the crow's leg. It pecked him viciously, opening a gash on his palm. He watched the blood for a moment as it trickled down his wrist and flowed onto the letter, soaking the seal so he couldn't read it any more._

_He unrolled the parchment slowly, and read as blood trickled over the words from the wound on his hand._

_'Mr Dalton,_

_We are aware that your magical education is now complete, and we would like to offer you an employment opportunity. We can give you a variety of tasks, and we hope that you will reward us with your considerable skills. Above all, we want to give you what you can't get elsewhere. We can give you your heart's desire. Nothing is beyond our power._

_All we ask for in exchange is your loyalty._

_Come to the Goblin's Wife in Diagon Alley tonight. We will be there.'_

_He re-read the letter, then rolled it up and tossed it into the fire. He knew his parents would try to stop him, but he didn't want to be stopped._

* * *

Here it is...the next installment in the hopefully-less-confusing-than-it-was-before story. I've had this written for a couple of weeks, and I'm sorry to keep you waiting. However, my beta hasn't been able to send me her notes, so I've decided to upload, mistakes and all. Therefore, I apologise for any particularly bad writing, but I hope you've enjoyed it all the same. :)

Becca


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